Living Large and Healthy

My friend Fiona is my sounding board for all my foibles with men. Every time I tell her of about someone odd who contacted me or a strange first date her first words to me are “That’s going in the book!”. I’m not sure at this point if this book will ever be written, but certainly I give her fodder for her character development. Sadly some of the people I’ve come across and even dated would likely seem unbelievable to most readers. Case in point a recent date with a man who seemed kind, intelligent, maybe a little goofy in the humour department, but overall a good prospect. I suggested we meet for a coffee and when he suggested that he could just come to my house I reminded him that I needed to be safe because he could be a psycho killer. I always have that conversation with men and I try to keep it light, but for reals people this is the internet, we’ve all read the horror stories, I’m not giving you my address until we’ve established that you’re safe. We agreed to meet at a Starbucks nearby and I did suggest that we go for a drive since it was cold and we seemed to be hitting it off and I didn’t feel physically threatened by him. I know Fiona is screaming “Stranger Danger” right now, but I felt safe and I had a cell phone. We headed out in his car and he told me we were going to drive down to the lake. In my mind I jokingly thought “hmm good place to dump my body” and no sooner had I thought it than he laughed and said the same. We shared a giggle, it broke the ice and we drove on. Unfortunately he was one of those people who doesn’t know when a joke is over and done and so for the next thirty minutes or so he pointed out wooded areas, abandoned lots, and creeks which would also be good spots to dispose of a body…After a few requests and finally a stern request he stopped with that particular flavour humour, but not before telling me that I’m too sensitive and need to relax. The rest of the date was pleasant enough and I was delivered back to the Starbucks parking lot in one piece and so I agreed to a second date. We would meet at my place the following weekend and he would bring lunch. We texted a fair bit, making plans, becoming more familiar with each other and I asked for his surname. He had mine since it was part of my email address. He ignored my text and popped up a few hours later chit chatting about this and that. In the course of the text conversation I asked him again and again he disappeared and a few hours later he called. We bantered a bit and again I asked his surname, still trying to believe that he was just busy and had “missed” my previous text questions. It was made clear to me that his surname was none of my concern. This man who wanted to come to my house, who was already assuming that he would be invited to my bed, felt that his personal information was none of my business. I objected, he retreated and finally he told me his name. The damage however was already done. I was uneasy that night, I was uneasy all the next day and the next morning I said I wanted to cancel our date. He was shocked. He was confused. He demanded to know why so I told him. He insisted that he had, in the end, told me his name, but as I pointed out it was only under pressure and it made me feel very uncomfortable. And then it got really good. He told me I was playing games, he told me that obviously I was seeing someone else, he told me that he now understood why I was single. A couple of weeks later he asked if I wanted to try again. I said that I didn’t think so since his last words to me had been so unkind. He didn’t apologize or offer an excuse, he said “Fair enough.” and he was gone. Ladies, if you’d like his number, I’m pretty sure he’s still single.

My next date fared much better. As is seldom the case he was better looking than his profile picture, he was tall, dark and handsome, with Indian and Portuguese heritage. Again we went to Starbucks, again we went for a drive, but he took me on a tour of the not so distant countryside and we looked at scenic sites and golf courses and talked about our love of nature. He was athletic, into golfing and hiking and camping and I joked that I hoped my enthusiasm would make up for my lack of physical prowess. I daydreamed about him hiking up a craggy hill, long gliding strides taking him closer and closer to the sky, and me like a cross between a tortoise and a corgi puffing happily behind him. We stopped in the parking lot of a little country store that was closed and he kissed me. Long and slow and sweet, just the way a girl wants to be kissed. We giggled and groped for a few minutes and all smiles we headed back making plans for our next meeting. I floated home from Starbucks, flushed with anticipation and, dare I say, a little lust. But, by three pm our relationship came to a crashing end. He called to tell me that he missed me already and to see if we could meet any earlier the next day since he just couldn’t wait to cuddle with me. I was pretty sure that was a euphemism and I felt it only fair to clarify that it would just be cuddling as I was um well being touched by the Goddess, so to speak. The conversation went something like this:

HIM: Oh you’re getting your period?

ME: Yeah.

HIM: Ya know I’ve been thinking and this isn’t going to work out between us. We’re not kids and we’re very different people.

ME: -Laughter-

HIM: -Silence-

ME: Oh. I thought you were kidding.

What followed was a profusion of reasons for why we’d be better off not dating. I finally cut him off and said that if this conversation was just going to be a laundry list of why I’m not right for him then I might as well just go. We said our goodbyes and that was it. I lay on my bed pondering what had just happened. He changed his mind about me mid-sentence. I wondered if perhaps he didn’t understand the female menstrual cycle, I mean it’s chronic, but not life threatening. And then it dawned on me. Mother Nature had screwed with his weekend. He had no interest in dating me long term. He wanted a dirty weekend with a chubby girl and then come Monday I would be on the curb with the recycling. I can’t say it didn’t hurt, but it would have hurt more if I’d trusted him and been nekkid with him and then gotten the heave ho.

So now fast forward a few weeks and a new prospect is in the arena. He’s a little younger, but not so much so that people will point and stare, he has a good job, he’s well educated, he has a couple of kids, he’s tall dark and handsome and says all the right things. He was understanding and supportive during the two weeks my mom was in hospital this spring where every day was a blur of worrying about her and dividing my time between the hospital and looking after my elderly stepfather and trying to work full time. I understand that time with his kids is sacred so he just isn’t available the three days of the week he has them. And now two people who are very well suited for each other, who like each other, who want to spend time together are having trouble finding time for even a coffee together. When people have careers and houses and commutes and appointments and most importantly dependents there is very little time left over for relationship building. At this point it’s become comical, in a sad funny sort of way, that we can’t find a time to connect. This guy isn’t for Fiona’s book, this guy is one of the good ones and we can’t connect. We tried one night to get together after hospital visiting hours and I had to admit that I was just too tired. My drive home had been scary because I realized I was just too tired to be on the road even with a healthy supply of caffeine. I’ve kissed my toads, I’ve paid my dues, this is my guy and I’m damned if I’m going to let him go without a fight, but I’m starting to lose hope. We’ve had a couple of near misses, but we can’t seem to follow through, each of us being pulled by family and work responsibilities. I can see a future where we carve out time together by doing chores and grocery shopping together, where I schedule my appointments or my visits to my mom when he has his kids so we are free at the same time, I can even imagine creating a life with this person and we work together on all of the chores and child rearing and caring for parents….I just can’t seem to imagine a time where we can grab some coffee.

It might surprise you to know that I have about one hundred partial posts drafted. Sometimes I get distracted, sometimes I’m looking for the perfect quote or I’m trying to find a photo to add and sometimes I just feel that my writing isn’t up to snuff and I pause to find my voice. I’ve been sorting through my draft folder and I’ve found some interesting posts that I will be working on in coming weeks. For now there’s this:

Valentine’s Day is upon us. For some it’s a day of fun and frivolity with the person they love and for some it’s a stark reminder that they are a singleton in a world that favours coupling. Most years I’ve been single on Valentine’s. I’ve talked before about how the people who love me were clear that no one would ever be romantically interested in a girl like me, so I just let the day go by and bought silly cards for friends or for my parents. My father always sent me a Valentine, sometimes my mother does, and for a long time I just accepted that that was my fate. You, however, do not have to accept this. You do not have to be in a relationship to be a whole, beautiful, wonderful person, but you also do not have to live your life alone because people tell you that no one will love the fat girl.

A few months ago I got my heart broken. Actually it was broken several times during our four year roller coaster of a relationship, but I was loved and I did love. I am a fat girl and someone loved me. The very fact that someone loved me and made love with me reinforced for me that indeed there are people who love women like me. We need role models. We need to see that, despite the opinions of many around us, we are lovable.

Today I found adipositivity.com. There are hundreds of photos of fat people of various shapes and sizes in various poses and states of undress. Depending on your workplace this may be NSFW, so please do be careful, but what I truly loved were the Valentine pictures. These are pictures of of fat people and their lovers. In reading the description of the Adipositivity Project the point is to show people of size and promote acceptance of all shapes and sizes. Perhaps if more of us see that people who look like us have lovers and do love and are loved then they too will be open to finding love. I often joke about being oblivious to flirting and romantic interest. I’m not actually oblivious, I’ve just spent a lot of time ignoring these behaviours because I assumed people weren’t interested. Even now, several dates and a few boyfriends later, I can still be very insecure when meeting someone new and starting a new relationship. The same old insecurities rise up and I have to fight tooth and nail to push them back down. Pictures like the ones on adipositivity.com are not only for the education and enlightenment of the average person. They are for the above average person, like myself, who needs to see herself and her beauty though a different lens.

Years ago, after a lovely dinner with a friend and her husband my friend called me and told me that her husband was raving about me. He said I was funny and a great conversationalist. Without skipping a beat I replied “Aw go on, I bet he says that about all the fat girls”. My friend was a little taken aback by my response, but let’s be clear, he didn’t even say I had a pretty face, the best thing he could say about me was that I could hold up my end of the conversation. He’s my friend’s husband so if he had started raving about my great beauty and sexual magnetism this also might have caused some disturbance, and as a feminist and a strong female with her self esteem intact I should be glad that he didn’t focus on my physical attributes, but as the fat girl who was always the best of friends with the cute boy who never called except to check homework answers all I could think was “Geez would it have killed him to say I was cute or had a pretty smile?”

Navigating the dating world has shown me that the only guys who choose to date me are those who find the flesh appealing. This isn’t a harsh criticism, it’s just the way it is. If someone prefers a particular type be it height, weight, hair colour or tattoos then that is what they prefer. And in fact there is a certain comfort in it. If I am going to get naked with someone and I know that they really do like the flesh then I can relax a bit knowing that they are going to like what they see. And I know not to be disappointed when the cute boy treats me like his little buddy and goes off into the sunset with the leggy blonde. It’s a natural truth I’ve come to accept and I no longer feel bad if the cute boy looks past me, in fact I assume it’s going to happen. I’m so used to being “Friend Zoned”, that I actually do it to myself. If an attractive man starts chatting with me I naturally assume that he is looking to talk to my friends and I get out of the way immediately, ever conscious that I don’t want to cock block. In fact I’m so good at getting out of the way and assuming that someone is uninterested that I often if not always miss the cues that someone is trying to get my attention. I’m so sure that the average guy is not going to like me that I don’t register it when they do. The only problem is that it turns out that I’m wrong. It turns out that a lot of men don’t have a set type or that their “type” is actually more of a range.

Recently I met a guy for coffee. It wasn’t a date, however we did meet on line. He was looking for used clothing and I had a few pieces I thought he might like and so we met up at a local Starbucks. We met, we chatted and an hour flew by. I went back home and emailed a friend and raved about this guy. My exact words…I wrote “I ADORE THIS MAN”, yes all in caps just like that and I told her that “I hope we are going to be friends, I just think he’s lovely”. I had no plans beyond that, not even the secret kind that I only tell my cat about how it would be nice if he actually liked me and we fell in love and lived happily ever after. It never once crossed my mind that this guy would give me a second look beyond the used clothing that he was trying to find. And then later that evening he sent me a message telling me how great it was to meet me and he told me that I was really cute. I’m clueless, but even I had an inkling that he was thinking that we could be more than friends, but I still polled a number of people, including my ex to make sure that when a guy says a girl is cute it means the same thing as when a girl says a guy is cute. My ex assured me it did, and then he paused and asked me what exactly a girl means when she says a boy is cute. I said she means he is good looking, she wants to sleep with him and have his babies. He said, yeah pretty much, except ya know without the baby having part.

Once the initial shock and delight passed that this guy I think is amazing actually might like me as more than a friend, then all my insecurities rose up full force. Truth be told, I have never dated someone who liked me just for me. He did say he liked curvy women, but I am well beyond “curvy” and suddenly I found myself thinking that maybe he had made a mistake, maybe he didn’t really see me when we went out for coffee. I mean he walked in and saw me across the restaurant, we talked for an hour, he hugged me when we parted, but as if black really is slimming I started to think that maybe he didn’t realize just how big I am, maybe he didn’t realize that under my skirt my thighs are dimpled, and he didn’t catch on that I am a SUPER sized big, beautiful woman. I write this and it sounds ridiculous, but these are the things that have been going through my head. We both have busy schedules and the holidays are approaching and so our first proper date wont be for a couple of weeks, but our conversations have reached a point that I no longer doubt that he does in fact “like” me, and I have been clear that I like him and it’s all good and yet I feel the urge to try to lose half my body weight in the next two weeks and I am fighting the urge to be overly honest about all of my shortcomings in hopes that he will reassure me that he does in fact like me. Even I know that while a little vulnerability is endearing, incessantly needing reassurance is off putting. The irony of course is that I’ve always wanted someone to just like me for me and now it’s quite possibly fallen into my lap in a serendipitous kind of way and I am perplexed. I feel like the kid who wants a skateboard for Christmas more than anything else and then realizes that he’s terrified to hop on the thing. I will go on our date, in fact I’m really excited to see him again, but between then and now there is going to need to be a lot of self talk to keep me from screwing up what I hope could be something really wonderful. I would hate to be friend zoned for being too insecure.

It may surprise you to know that I have a handful of friends who I have known since Kindergarten. In fact I met them before Kindergarten because I was four and back in the day we started school at 5. We may lose track of each other from time to time, but when we come together there is a fondness and a caring that is stronger then pretty much any other platonic relationship I’ve had in my life. There is a certain comfort, a certain safety and a profound trust that comes not only from knowing someone for 35 years, but also from sharing your formative years and knowing that no matter what mask you show the world, your childhood friends see right through it.

I had dinner with one of these friends recently and we were talking about relationships. He seems to always be in a state of flux, largely by choice, but I was lamenting the number of guys I meet who just want sex or stand me up or call from time to time, but never actually follow through on plans. He told me about some of his conquests and I chided him for being a pig and he told me that he figures that even when he screws up that he is permitted one do over, but after that it’s her fault if she let’s him screw her around. Other friends have basically told me the same thing and to just not take the calls of my ne’er do well following, but when he said it, it suddenly clicked. Be it a need to be polite or a need for some attention or an irrational hope that this time will be different I keep letting these guys wind me up and waste my time.

Just this week I’ve had two propositions from guys I once dated. To be clear I did honestly think we were dating at the time, but then I can be pretty naive when it comes to matters of the heart. These are both guys who were looking for a good time and didn’t much care about me. One was notorious for standing me up or arriving several hours late for dates, the other after dating for a few weeks told me in no uncertain terms, that it was only my form for which he was warm. In fact when he emailed me this week he inquired after my massive booty and was surprised when I didn’t take that as a compliment. This is not the first time these guys, and others like them have tried to reconnect with me and no I’m not bragging, in fact anything but. The problem is not actually them, the problem is that I keep letting them back, I keep taking their calls, and I never outright tell them to stop contacting me.

They are wasting my time when I could be seeing real friends or working out or sleeping and I have decided that once and for all this will stop. I am washing my hands of the toads, the frogs, and the ill behaved princes who disrespect my time and my person. I am no princess, in fact I can be a downright pill once you get to know me, but I’m no serf and I will not be treated as such. Any more.

When I first met my ex I was immediately smitten, but I was also very clear. I wanted commitment and babies and a minivan and if he wasn’t interested in that then he should go now before feelings were hurt. He told me that everything was possible. A year later driving back from our first vacation together he told me that he and his last serious love had split because he didn’t want kids. I felt sick as he said those words, but then I had been feeling sick on and off for a few days and by the time we got home I was dealing with waves of nausea. After a week or so of feeling like crap I took a test and it was negative. I went to the doctor later that day and after describing my symptoms her first thought was pregnancy as well. I said I had taken a test and she asked me about my cycle. I said it was irregular and she gave me an impish grin. Apparently home pregnancy tests are not that accurate when one’s cycle is wonky.

I will save you the suspense, I wasn’t pregnant, but in the few days between the test and the confirmation I realized just how much I wanted it to be positive and since I’m older and have an irregular cycle a happy accident would have been a blessing, but alas it was likely stress or a mild tummy bug.

Our relationship had it’s ups and downs, a hiatus and now we’ve been cancelled, but whatever future we might have had together it was clear that it would not involve children. I was happy to be with him, but there was a certain amount of melancholy thinking that I would miss out on being a mother. I debated ending the relationship for that very reason, but given my overall health, my age and the likelihood that I might not be able to get pregnant without serious intervention I decided that perhaps it was better to have the man I love instead of the possibility of a child, plus I really didn’t want to go it alone. They say that through our children we become immortal and so I gave up immortality to be with the man I loved, only things didn’t work out as I thought they would and here I am closer to 41 than 40 and the door I thought I’d closed stands ajar.

I live a decent life. There could be more travel, more romance and more time to putter, but I have good friends, I have a job, I’ve accepted that I will never be a rock star, and I think I’ve finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up, so things could be much worse. Now I just have to figure out if that’s enough. I do know that I am not interested in having a child by an anonymous donor. Everyone may have their opinion on this issue, but I had a strong relationship with my father and I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without his guidance and love. Adopting a child who has no parents and giving them a stable home with one parent has value added, but I can’t imagine telling a child that I wanted to be a mother so badly that I knowingly robbed them of ever having a relationship with their father, let alone a full family and medical history. I know people do it all the time, but it’s just not something I feel I could do in good conscience. I’ve dated a couple of men who were open to fathering a child for me, but it was pretty clear that they weren’t interested in sticking around or being any kind of parent. While that’s slightly better in that at least my child could contact them and ask questions, it’s still not the same as having a dad who loves you and wants the best for you. Plus if they made me that offer, then it’s likely they’ve made the same offer to other gals and I really don’t want my kid on a chat show in twenty years talking about how they accidentally dated their sibling or some such horror. Having a child with a platonic friend who wants some level of involvement would be something I would consider, but so far no one has made me any offers.

My maternal grandmother was 42 when she had my mom. It was her first pregnancy and she was a Rubenesque gal, so I do hold out some hope that I can have a child of my own though I do worry that at this point what eggs I have left might be hard boiled. If I can’t have a biological child then I am open to adopting and given what I have heard about waiting lists it’s something I should be looking at now. Initially I was hesitant about adoption, as I thought it was important to have a child who was related to me, a child who might look a bit like my dad or have my eyes, but I realize now that being a parent is so much more than creating a person who looks a bit like you. I look like both of my parents, but if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure they still would have loved me and cared for me and helped me become the person I am.

I have no great conclusion, no pithy answer or quote to wrap this up. Choosing to be a parent and how I choose to become a parent are very personal decisions and ones that I will not take lightly.

I don’t think need to say much more than I love this and give a quick disclaimer for those with delicate ears that she does drop an F bomb or two. You can find more about Rachel Wiley here. Read the rest of this entry »

Last night my boyfriend and I ended our relationship. Our plans of a life together are dashed and I am experiencing a sadness and a longing so dense that I fear it may suffocate me. However as I indulge in a little KFC therapy and pour my heart out to the Colonel, I am reminded that this was our second attempt at finding happiness together and when it ended the last time, I survived.

I was hurt and sad and rife with feelings of inadequacy, but eventually the wound healed over and left only the faintest of scars. My wounds are deeper this time round, but I know that they will heal and I will find someone new. Of course at this moment, it feels like I will never again find someone who will engage my mind and rock my world, but I’m hopeful that there is another someone out there, someone who will be willing to share their heart and who will play for keeps.

As a fat woman I am loathe to step back into the dating world and once again navigate not only the typical pitfalls of dating, but also the fat girl traps like those men who love the flesh, but only behind closed doors, the feeders who abuse with food, and the guys who abuse because they think that they can treat a fat woman as “less than” because they were gallant enough to saddle themselves with the fat chick. I once had a guy contact me on an online dating site and realizing that we had nothing in common I thanked him for his interest and wished him well with his search. He sent back a nasty message telling me how lucky I was that a guy like him would even talk to a fat slob like me. I call this “How Not To Win A Peek At My Underpants 101” and I lied, it’s happened more than once.

I’ve now been single for 24 hours, I think I’ll go put Gotye on repeat, cry into my pillow and remind myself that tomorrow is another day, or the sun will come out, or something like that.